


Habits

by bearfeathers



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Half a Fix-It, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 03:49:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3881137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearfeathers/pseuds/bearfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're gone and I gotta stay high all the time to keep you off my mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Habits

He'd had always had something of an addictive personality, Percival thinks reflectively. It's just that what he'd been addicted to for the past seventeen years had been... James. Suddenly without him, the world seems that much harsher, that much more unbearable.

It's not much at first. Just a drink here and there. Just something to dull it the tiniest bit. Except it never lasts. He finds himself growing so very, very tired of a world which hasn't got James in it. A drink becomes two or three. He finds himself constantly replenishing the decanter of whiskey in his rooms. And when that's not enough, he concocts himself a dangerous cocktail of alcohol and sleeping pills - if he's not conscious, he doesn't have to feel so... raw. He gets few hours of blessed unconsciousness. Not really sleeping, he doesn’t sleep much these days, but it will do.

They know, he thinks. Or at least, they suspect. They must, what with the days he comes in with bloodshot eyes, his tie a fraction less straight than it ought to be, his hair marginally less tidy than it usually was. But if they know, they say nothing and leave him be, for which he’s immensely grateful. He’s not sure he could stomach an intervention.

"Martin."

Of course it's Merlin who approaches him. It would have to be. Their wizard has eyes everywhere, it seems.

"Martin, put the glass down," he says softly. "We can talk—"

"Don't," Percival snaps, not bothering to turn around and face him. Or perhaps unable to. He's not sure. "I don't... I don't _want_ to talk about..."

_Not with you._

“This has gone on long enough,” Merlin says, his voice as tired as Percival feels. “I should have put a stop to it sooner, but I thought you should have room to grieve. I thought it would stop if you just had time. That was my mistake, I see that now.”

“Oh, don’t,” Percival says. “Don’t stand there and make this about you. The great Merlin who sees all and hears all has missed something; what a tragedy.”

“I want to help,” Merlin says, ignoring the jab. “I understand what you’re going through is—“

“No, you don’t!” Percival roars. “Don’t you dare tell me you understand. How could you possibly understand what this feels like? _Yours came back_.”

He turns and hurls the glass blindly, seeing nothing but red. It misses Merlin’s head by inches and shatters at the wall behind him. Merlin doesn’t flinch. Not even after the shards of glass which had struck his cheek cause blood to dribble down the side of his face. He stands there, still and silent as a stone, his eyes full of more pity than Percival can stand.

Harry had come back to them. Had come back to Merlin. Perhaps Merlin had understood what he feels, for a time, but Harry had come back. James wasn’t ever coming back. James was gone forever. The realization tears a sob out of him. James is never coming back.

Merlin starts toward him as Percival collapses inward upon himself.

"It's alright," Merlin says. There are hands on his shoulders. Gentle. Sympathetic. "It's alright."

There is no judgment in the safety of Merlin’s arms as Percival sobs brokenly into his shoulder and he supposes he should be thankful for that much. But he’s wrong. It’s not often Merlin is, but on this occasion he is so very, very wrong.

It’s not alright.

And it never will be.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that happened, I guess. *sits*


End file.
